


Better Cold Hands Than None At All

by imaginary_golux



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even heroes break eventually.  Written for Porn Battle XIII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Cold Hands Than None At All

This is not a fairytale; the good side does not always win. The half-trained child hero with his ragtag band of friends, his broken men and old women, is no match for those who follow Death. The old man falls, and the old walls fall, that so defied the Lord; and there is such pleasure in the killing, in cutting down the boy’s friends before his eyes and seeing him break apart like shattered glass.

The Dark Lord leaves but two alive, when the long night is done and the school has burnt and fallen: the girl Ginevra, tainted years ago by his black promises, fated now to breed new pureblood children for the loyal ones who bowed to Him in time – for are not Weasleys known to be fertile and fecund as the land blessed by the Nile – and the boy hero, poor brave Potter, poor broken Potter.

He is a trophy, kept leashed beside the Dark Lord’s throne. He is a vessel, holding the Dark Lord’s soul, so that the Dark Lord can never truly die. And he is a conquest, nightly laid out for the Dark Lord’s pleasure, chained to the bed with iron and spells and – worst of all – with whispered words of love. Who else will love him now, when he has led to death all those who followed him? Who else will call him dear to them, but only Him who owns him, only the dread Dark Lord himself.

The Dark Lord’s hands are cold on him, but better than none at all. The Dark Lord’s words are poison, but a man will drink poison if there is no water near. And though it takes years – oh, many years and pain – there comes the day when the boy hero kneels to his Lord, unchained, unleashed by anything but fear and love.

He is naked as the day he was born, save for the collar on his neck. He wears the marks of lash and dagger proudly on his back, and down his bare straight thighs drips the Dark Lord’s spend. He is beautiful, this broken hero; all remark on it. And the Dark Lord on his black throne laughs, and laughs, and knows that he will never die.


End file.
